Simon's Overture
by EddieKickAxe
Summary: A quick dribble-drabble written for my US Literature class. The Belmonts are back, and Simon must find the source of the darkness plaguing the land. Could talk of a castle lead him to his fate?


**Disclaimer:** This is a fanfiction based off of the 1987 video game _Castlevania, _written for my American Literature Class. The goal was to use ten vocabulary words, (underlined below) in a paragraph about anything you would like. So, of course, I chose one of my favorite videogame series. I combined both CVI and CV3: Dracula's Curse for the plot, to better use the vocab. The characters and plot belong to Konami Co. games, but all writing is my own. Enjoy!

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Long ago, in the kingdom of Wallachia, lived a man unlike any other, Simon Belmont. He was a strong and proud warrior, fighting countless battles with unsurpassed skill. He was also a holy man, claiming his victories in God's name and dedicating himself to His word. Yet, for all his prowess, he received no glory, nor asked for any. As he traveled through villages and towns, he chose to remain anonymous, mumbling a common name in place of his own when asked. The Belmont clan had been in exile for many years, and Simon doubted the townsfolk would celebrate their return. Hunters by blood, the Belmonts had a long history of fighting evil. While the good people of Romania feared what lurked in the forests at night, the dark creatures feared the Belmonts. Demons, ghouls, werewolves, the stuff of nightmares no less, were all brought down by the saintly warriors. But the villagers, the very people the Belmonts protected, became suspicious. The clans displays of superhuman strength began to scare them. In hushed voices, they talked of them being "different" or "strange". If they had the power to defeat such creatures, were they not monsters themselves? The Belmont clan was branded as witches, heathens, satanists, nonconformists. The Church, claiming witches as vulgar and vile beings, asked the Belmonts to leave the country. But in exiling the hunters, the Church had made a grave blunder. A curse now spread through the land like a plague, consuming Wallachia in darkness. Hatred filled the hearts of the civilians, crops failed, livestock perished, and the night was a dangerous place indeed. Now, more than ever, the denizens of Wallachia needed the Belmont's assistance. Simon searched night after night, seeking the cause of the misery.

"It's the Count I tell you! He's made a bloody pact with the devil! He's unscrupulous, a pure maniac!"

Simon looked up from the earthy oak table in the small tavern he stopped in for the night. His eyes darted from the grey haired man waving his hands to the other patrons who looked uneasy.

"Get stuffed old man. Lord Dracul's protected this kingdom for years. Remember two winters ago? We would have been crushed had his own knights not taken arms against the enemy," one villager chuckled. There was a murmur of agreement through the inn. The old man looked horrified.

"But you saw what he did with the prisoners! Threw them on spikes in his own front yard he did! I know you saw that! The red splattered on the snow...all his work. He's brutal, vicious! Serenity hasn't been found in this town since the Count arrived, I tell you!"

Shoving a lock of red hair back under his hood, Simon pushed his chair out, standing at full height. All eyes present promptly turned to him, regarding his red and gold armor with wonder and suspicion.

"This Count," he asked, speaking slowly as to not show hostility, "where does he reside?"

"The castle! On the cliff over yonder!" the old man yelled, waving his hand towards the wall behind the bar. The rest of the townspeople were shocked. To trust a foreigner so fast in these times was foolish indeed. Simon disregarded them completely, nodding to the man sharply.

"Then I shall leave immediately."

"Hey, wait right there mister!" said one man forcefully. He pointed at Simon, gripping his tankard in his other hand. "Who are you? We don't just send strangers wandering into the forest! Tis' dangerous!" Simon narrowed his eyes at the man.

"I assure you," he said, pulling his hood down, "I have no fear of danger."

A wave of nervousness flooded the room, as all eyes locked onto Simons bright red hair. Clearly, he was _not _from around here, that's for sure.

"That whip..." the man whispered, lowering his hand. He stared at it intently, making Simon wrap his hand around the whip at his side unconsciously. The man then locked his gaze with Simon's, narrowing his eyes, but Simon could see the fear behind them.

"Tell me then sir...are you not a Belmont?" A gasp rippled through the small tavern, with many taken aback. Simon tilted his head up slightly, not surprised in the slightest at their reaction, but remaining proud of his bloodline.

"Yes." Another loud gasp resounded. The man who had pointed at him actually took a step back. "I am Simon Belmont," he bowed, "of the Belmont Clan." Although his gentlemanly actions lessened the surprise, many backed away, unsure of what to think. Seeing the man who spoke up earlier now sweating profusely, the barkeep lowered the glass he'd been polishing and folded his arms across his chest.

"We haven't seen the likes of you type round ere' for a long while." Simon calmly faced the man, quite relieved to see someone not entirely afraid. "Tell me lad," he said, pressing his palms to the bar, leaning towards Simon, "what choo' wandering to the castle for?" Simon puffed out his chest.

"I have been summoned by his Holiness himself to search for the origin of the recent darkness that has enveloped this land." The bartender did not even flinch.

"And what choo' intending to do with the Count?"

"I shall endeavor to meet this Count. And should I conclude that this curse is his doing, I shall have no choice but confront him." Leaning back, the barkeep gave Simon one last eye over.

"Then off with ye'. We shall make no move to stop you, but you shall find no shelter here."

Simon nodded. To be free to continue without any opposition was a blessing in itself. He would trouble these people no longer. Once again raising his hood against the chilly October breeze, Simon set off at a hurried pace. For one so cruel to choose a name like that must have been conscientious.

"Eu sunt Dracul." Simon muttered, reaching the path to the castle on the cliff. "I am the dragon." The path was surrounded by trees, and a thick mist swirled around them, making them seem eerie in the moonlight. Simon brandished his whip with flourish, inviting creatures of the night to challenge him. He would not turn back now. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, Simon Belmont began his journey on the path to Castle Dracula.


End file.
